On Botticelli’s Annunciation

I have met them in the Uffizithe angel hunched on bended knee—his thigh thick beneath his satin robe—the virgin’s urgent contrappostoher sudden arm extended longbeyond the border of her capehalting his rehearsed songas if his theme weren’t love but rape.

Her face impossibly serenedoes not betray her body’s fear.His deathless eyes have never seena mortal woman quite so near.The space between their outstretched handssalvation in a single glance.